Starry Night
by lily moonlight
Summary: As a little girl, Stella makes a wish upon her Christmas star; years later, Mac is forced to rediscover his own belief in the magic of Christmas.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: Still not mine :(**

**Notes: A new story! This was intended to be a short Christmas story, but it grew... So, it's still a Christmas story, just a little bit late! I hope you enjoy it and please let me know what you think :) **

**Dedicated to _Crowded Angels_ and _Ballettmaus _- thank you very much for helping with the summary! **

**Starry Night**

Chapter 1

Tinsel coiled and spilled out of boxes and bags; glitter from the Christmas card making drifted in the air, gaudy dust motes, catching the light and creating little twinkles in unexpected places – on a torn piece of newspaper; on someone's nose, in a glass of lemonade...

And on Stella. She was drenched in glitter. It coated her sweater and skirt and lay thick in her hair, and she grinned as sparkles flew when she shook her curls over her shoulder before standing on tiptoes to add another length of tinsel to the Christmas tree.

Standing back, she stood with her head tilted on one side, admiring her work so far.

Bedecked with a myriad of baubles, strings of beads, tinsel, handmade decorations and donated ornaments, the tree was a dazzling show of colour. It didn't matter that it was a tree of the haphazard and hand-me-down; the mis-matched, and careworn: Stella loved it, dearly. Loved the ceremony of helping unpack the old toys and ornaments from their tissue paper and boxes, the challenge of finding just the right place for each ornament and the moment when it was all done, and they would stand back while the star at the top, saved until last, was added to shine gold and brilliant.

Every year someone was chosen to put it in place. It had never been her, but maybe this year...

As she picked up another piece of tinsel, she felt a tug on her sleeve, spun round and saw her best friend looking like she was holding her breath – her cheeks swollen and pink, and her eyes huge.

'I got to tell you something!' Kirsty squeaked. 'Something _really, really_ important.'

Torn between wanting to continue decorating the tree and to know what her friend – her best friend since Mindy had gone - had to tell her, Stella grimaced, wavered and finally allowed herself to be pulled away from the throng of children round the tree after looping the tinsel she was holding round her neck. At least she'd been able to put her two special toys on the tree, safely among the branches and out of sight of the big boys.

'What is it?' she asked as Kirsty led her away to a quiet corner of the dining room, and pulled her down underneath a table.

'A _secret_,' Kirsty breathed. At the word 'secret', Stella's ears pricked up and she shuffled back further under the table.

'What?' she demanded and Kirsty clutched her hands.

'It's the _best_ ever secret I ever heard, Stella!' she whispered and Stella felt her insides prickle with excitement. Kirsty drew in a big breath, her eyes popping and then it gushed out, 'I know how we can meet Santa!'

Stella's mouth dropped open. Santa? They could meet _Santa?_

'_Really?_ Really, truly, cross your heart and hope to die, you really know?'

Kirsty nodded, jigging up and down in glee. 'Really truly, cross my heart and hope to die. Bonnie and Shirley were talking and I listened and you know they know almost _everything_...'

They did, Stella had to admit that. They were almost twelve and knew nearly as much as Mindy had done. She hoped she would know as much as they did when she got to be twelve in four years' time.

'What did they say? How can we meet him?' She knew already what she would ask him for; she'd heard the whispers when adults thought she wasn't listening about her future in foster care.

Kirsty leaned forward; cupping her hand round Stella's ear and tickling it as she breathed heavily. 'They said you got to wish on the star on top of the tree, tonight, at exactly midnight! Then...'

A hand snatching at one of her braids cut her off.

'Hey!' Stella grabbed angrily at the hand, digging her nails into it, but another hand swiped at her and then yanked at the tinsel round her neck, overbalancing her. 'Get off!' she yelled, scrambling out from under the table, red-faced to see Clark and Jay, the two meanest boys in the home, sniggering at her. Kirsty crawled out after her and stood next to her, holding her hand, panting as they both glared at the boys.

'What are you two babies talking about?' Clark jeered, pulling Kirsty's braid hard.

'Nothing!' she cried, twisting out of his grasp as he laughed at her. Stella scowled.

'Mind your own business,' she snapped.

The two boys laughed, annoying her even more. 'Whatever, _babies_. We heard you talkin' about Santy Claus. Huh, you think he's gonna come and see you two dumb babies?'

'Yeah, _babies_,' Jay snickered, his round, heavy face shiny with sweat.

'We're _not_ babies.' Stella clenched her fists and stood closer to Kirsty who was fighting back tears as she sniffed and rubbed at her scalp.

'Yeah you are, _babies_,' Clark crowed. 'And Santy Claus don't come to babies...'

'He _is_ going to come to us and he's not going to come to you, 'cause you're mean and he doesn't bring presents to stupid, mean boys,' Stella stormed.

Clark just smirked and folded his arms. 'Bet you ten bucks you don't get any presents this year and me and Jay get a whole heap of stuff.'

Stella gave him a scornful look and tossed her curls back. 'Bet you don't, and I bet you I get exactly what I want this year, so there!'

'Bet you _don't,_' Clark sneered and shoved her in the chest. She staggered backwards, recovered herself and pushed him back, but he grabbed a handful of her hair and tugged it spitefully. Stella yelled, Kirsty screamed, and there was their foster mother wading into the muddle and pulling them apart to scold them all and banish each of them into a separate corner of the room until the tree was decorated.

In her corner, arms wrapped round her knees, Stella was defiant. Missing the rest of the decorating and losing her chance of placing the star was tough but she consoled herself with the thought that tonight, Kirsty and she would prove those stupid, mean boys wrong. They'd make their wish, meet Santa, and then she could ask him for what she wanted most of all in the whole world – her own, her very own family.

With the other children clustered round the tree their foster mother turned a switch on with a flourish and the fairy lights burst into life - glittering, sprinkling the star at its very top with little light snowflakes. At the sight of it, Stella smiled, hugging herself in excitement at the thought of what was to come.

Hours later, fighting her way out of dreams of being covered by snow and dazzled by lights, Stella woke with a gasp. Even though she'd tried to stay awake until midnight, sleep had overcome her and panic filled her at the realisation that she might have overslept and missed the magic hour.

Fumbling in the dark, she managed to lay her hands on the tiny box of matches and nightlight that she'd smuggled up to her room to replace her broken flashlight. Quietly as possible, she lit the candle and squinted at her watch... and breathed a sigh of relief. It was almost a quarter to midnight, she had fifteen minutes to spare.

Stella swung her legs out of bed, dragged on her dressing gown and stuffed her watch into her pocket, wanting to keep it with her. The watch wasn't new, but it was _almost_ and Mickey Mouse's smiling face and his white-gloved hands pointing to the time amused her.

Next was waking Kirsty...

Stella padded over to her bed and shook her shoulder.

'Kirsty!' she hissed, gaining no response. Her friend was deeply asleep and gentle - and then not so gentle - shaking failed to wake her; she snored on stubbornly. Aware of the time, Stella decided with regret, and a bit of guilt, that she'd have to leave her. With a last glance back at her, she eased open the door and set off into the December night alone.

The room she shared with Kirsty was at the back of the house and it would be a long walk to the dining room, but worth it. Barefoot, Stella crept along the landing through the velvety dark. Draughts stirred the curtains and she was glad of her candle warming her fingers, even if it did cast odd shapes on the walls and make the shadows loom large and lowering... They were only shadows, she reminded herself; harmless, and useful if she needed to hide.

As she passed a window, she saw its curtain was only half-closed and despite her hurry, she couldn't help pausing to glance out. It was still snowing; unique, glittering flakes that fell and landed and vanished into the mass of sparkling, dazzling white. Heaped up, rumpled blankets of snow, looking like the city had thrown off its bedclothes all at once, leaving the buildings shining in the moonlight. The skyscrapers in the distance seemed almost to be made of diamonds in the silver snow-light and entranced, Stella gazed at them before the artful frost patterns etched onto the glass caught her attention. She reached out to trace her finger over them and stopped reluctantly. There wasn't time.

Stella continued, filled with the nervous glee that came with an illicit expedition. Each door she passed made her heart thump a little louder. But none opened. The large house was silent. Wrapped deep in the heavy, dreaming silence of all its occupants; everyone as swaddled in their dreams as New York was in snow.

Everyone except her.

She was alone in the dark. Her pace slowed as she looked over her shoulder at the corridor behind her, swallowed up in murky, muddling gloom. The little flame in her hand wavered and she lifted her other hand to shield the light. Slowly, it strengthened and stood straighter, banishing her momentary fear. With a sigh, she kept going and passed her foster parents' room, hearing a bassoon-like snore issuing from it.

Trying to smother a giggle, she missed the wrinkle in the linoleum. When her foot caught on it, she gasped, stumbling, almost falling headlong, only just in time grabbing for the handle on a closet. With hot wax spilling from the candle all over her, Stella crashed to her knees, ending up crumpled against the closet door.

She stayed motionless, fighting the tears that threatened, straining her ears for the sound of anyone waking. In her hand, the candle trembled. Horribly loud, her heart thudded. A mumble and creak made her freeze, holding her breath. Another creak, and then what sounded like someone rolling over, followed by silence. After another few moments, Stella dared to exhale.

Slowly, cautiously, she got to her feet, dusted herself down and rubbed her sore knees. At the sight of the wax rivulets down her dressing gown, she frowned, then gave a resigned shrug and carried on. She would decide tomorrow how to explain that. More importantly, it was now five minutes to midnight and she gave a little gulp of anticipation and hurried on, keeping a closer eye on the floor.

Her wild curls bounced on her shoulders as she pattered down the stairs. The excitement took over again, all traces of bruised knees and shadows flying from her mind. The scent of pine needles and a faint aroma of spices – ginger, cinnamon, nutmeg – drifted through the cold air and she snuffed them up blissfully. The tiny flame wobbling, she ran to the door of the dining room. Another glance around, and she pressed down the handle and pulled the door open just enough for her to slip through.

A gasp tore from her. The Christmas tree stood at the far end of the room in illuminated glory. The fairy lights entwined in its branches glowed and twinkled; tiny stars pricked out among the deep, moss green. In the unlit room it was more magnificent, more majestic, than she had ever seen it. Transfixed with delight, she stood where she was simply staring in awe.

Still in wide-eyed reverence of the tree's beauty, she tip-toed towards it, wending her way between the furniture; the chairs upended on the long dining table, looking in the otherworldly light like grey and white striped candy canes. She glanced at them, but her attention was all on the Christmas tree. As she drew closer, she breathed a sigh of relief when she saw that the plate of cookies and the glass of milk left out for Santa were still untouched – for a moment, she had been worried that he might have called early.

After setting down her candle by the plate of cookies, Stella began to search through the branches. Her first Christmas at the foster home, she had been allowed to hang two toys on the tree on the very lowest branches. Even then she had realised something of the wonder of the occasion and had placed them on the tree with tremendous care. And it was those same toys – a soldier and a fairy – that she hunted for. She knew her friends, the two dolls would help her. Maybe, Stella considered hopefully, her own name might even bring her a little extra wishing power...

After some rummaging among the branches, she spotted the fairy in the depths of the foliage - out of sight, but where she could see everything going on. She reached in and drew her out, cradling her in her cupped hands, checking her over, pleased to see that the rampant curls, so similar to her own, were undamaged as were her tiny green glass eyes, her wide smile and the gold foil star on her gauzy dress. Clark and Jay had not found her.

'Hello,' Stella whispered, smoothing the little doll's curls as she set her down next to her candle. 'Keep warm there while I find your friend.'

She located the other toy within moments – the small jointed soldier doll with dark painted hair, a serious expression and a uniform scarred with a burn. A glower crossed Stella's face when she saw that, remembering last Christmas when Clark had snatched the soldier from her, grinning as he waved the doll high over his head before holding him over a candle. A rage unlike anything Stella had felt before had flared in her, consuming every trace of civility. She'd shoved him, sending him crashing to the ground, allowing her to snatch the soldier from him and run away, heedless of the mayhem around her, to tend to his injuries.

'Don't worry', she murmured touching the scorch mark on his chest. 'Me and fairy doll won't never, ever, _ever_ let you get hurt again.'

She sat him next to his friend before settling herself down on the floor cross-legged facing them and taking her watch out of her pocket.

'You got to help me wish,' she told them as Mickey's white-gloved hands moved closer to midnight. As she looked at the dolls, she was seized with a wish to help them, to bring them to life so they could talk properly to each other, and to her. Surely it would be okay if she made a little extra wish for them to be able to do that? With Mickey's hands hovering over the 12 on her watch, Stella made up her mind; she would wish for the dolls, too.

And as she decided, within the depths of the building, and from around the city, the chimes of clocks large and small, faint and chirruping, stentorian and clanging, rang out through the night. Closing her eyes tightly, screwing up her face and fists in concentration, Stella wished with all her might on the Christmas star.

Midnight's peals died away. Christmas morning had arrived. Everywhere was silent, muffled by the snow. Half-fearfully, Stella opened her eyes and gazed around, suddenly overwhelmed at the enormity of seeing Santa - _Santa_...

There was no one there. She was alone with the dolls, the plate of cookies and the tree. All was as it had been and the cold of the floor was starting to seep through her thin dressing gown and pyjamas.

Stella sat very still, only a shiver passing through her every few moments, waiting for Santa to arrive, and the dolls to move. Maybe he'd been held up delivering all those presents, or perhaps he'd had an especially heavy present for someone which had taken him longer than usual to deliver – that was probably it, there was no need to worry. She guessed that she'd probably hear the reindeer first, then his boots tramping along the roof. Or perhaps he'd use the front door...

And maybe the dolls were shy, not sure what to say to each other and to her. So she wrapped her arms round herself, smiled encouragingly at the dolls, prepared to be patient.

Fairy doll's eternal smile stayed on her face; the soldier's blue-eyed gaze stayed fixed. From somewhere, a chilly breath of wind made the candle flame wobble.

The minutes ticked by and frustration tightened in Stella's chest: there was no sound of reindeer or boots and the dolls had not moved.

Determination set in her and she rested her elbows on her knees and dropped her chin into her upturned palms. She hoped that when the dolls did move, they would want to talk to her, as there were so many questions she wanted to ask them, including if they knew Santa themselves. Being patient was very difficult and tiring, but Stella persevered and thought about what else she would ask the dolls – whether they ever got bored or hungry when they were packed in their box; had it hurt Soldier when Clark held him over the flame; did they like cookies...

Even when a yawn overtook her, she continued to stare at the dolls, certain they would move.

They didn't.

Maybe, though, if she looked away for a second and then back again...

That didn't work either, so she continued to watch and listen, her ears strained for the faintest sound of hooves or footsteps.

The lights on the tree quivered in her vision as she kept her eyes wide open, refusing to blink. Another yawn stretched her face. She felt her eyelids droop and forced them open. But her eyelids were even more stubborn than she was and closed again for longer. With a valiant struggle, she forced them open, finding her surroundings blurry and light-spattered, her vision all mixed up. When her head tipped forwards and slid off her palms, she decided she could just as easily wait for Santa lying down as sitting up.

Curled up on the floor, staring sideways now, Stella blinked owlishly at the two tiny figures. They stared back, eyes fixed, limbs rigid. Unmoving. Hesitant, almost afraid, she stretched a finger towards them, touching the star on the fairy's dress, brushing the soldier's uniform jacket. A trembling sigh heaved from her and she tucked her knees up to her chest, before scrubbing the back of her hand across her eyes, hoping she wouldn't have to wait much longer.

Another yawn overtook her and this time it was even harder to open her eyes again. She managed to drag them half open, before her eyelids fell shut, her lashes swept across her cheeks and she breathed deeply, drifting away into snowflake and star-filled dreams, and just out of sight, the family of her very own she wanted to ask Santa for.

As she slept, a wink of light shone in the blue and green eyes in front of her. Two little heads turned and the dolls looked at each other, smiling as their hands joined and in the distance sounded the faint jingle of bells.

* * *

**Many thanks to _Ballettmaus_ and _Suallenparker_ for all their help, and to Suallen for the cover art. Thanks also to _Smuffly_ for an early read through. Finally, happy St Piran's Day from Cornwall!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: Still not mine, sadly**

**Notes: Thank you very much for the reviews and follows for chapter 1 :) Thanks also to ****_Suallenparker_**** and ****_Ballettmaus_**** for their help. **

Chapter 2

'Stella?'

'Go 'way,' she mumbled, batting at the hand that shook her shoulder, still in the comfortable state between dreams and waking, her mind reluctant to leave the memories she'd revisited.

'Stella!' The voice became insistent. Grudgingly, Stella opened her eyes and blinked at a blurry form which resolved itself into Mac. He stood over her with an amused expression.

'You were sleeping', he informed her and she groaned as she sat up, yawned and stretched.

'I wasn't sleeping, I was resting my eyes.' She gazed bleary-eyed at him and he gave her a sceptical look as he picked up a sheaf of reports waiting for his signature.

'My mistake,' he said dryly. 'But if you've rested your eyes enough, how about dinner when I've finished signing these off?'

The last vestiges of sleep evaporating from her mind and her vision clearing, Stella smiled. 'Sounds good. I got a few more things to sign off myself then I'm done.'

'Sure?' Mac asked. 'Your eyes don't need to rest any longer?' His question was light, but his concern was not hidden very deeply behind it as he studied her.

She pulled a face. 'They're fully rested, thank you. I guess a double shift wears them out a little.'

With a grin, she reassured him and he nodded, smiling briefly. 'I'll find you after I finish,' he said before he took his leave.

Her chin balanced on the heel of her hand, Stella smiled as she watched him walk along the corridor, before the corners of her mouth slipped downwards. For the second time in two days she had fallen asleep at her desk. Admittedly, the last few days had been hectic, both she and Mac pulling more than one double shift, but she felt more exhausted than usual.

And it was only a few days before Christmas, and she was barely ready – there were gifts still to wrap, gifts still to buy even. So different from when she was a child and the weeks before Christmas had stretched out almost unbearably. At times like now, those Christmases past in her foster home, and later, at St Basil's Orphanage, seemed long, long ago, melted away like the snow that had fallen on Christmas Eve almost thirty years ago when she had crept out of bed at midnight to see Santa.

The sight of the tiny potted fir tree on her desk, a gift from Adam, brought her back to the present. With a sigh for the vanished innocence of Christmas, Stella touched one of the miniature baubles on the tree which winked in the light. She still missed her two Christmas tree dolls, the fairy and the soldier doll. On Christmas morning after her midnight vigil (after being returned to bed by her foster mother, she had later found out) she had rushed to the tree and found them gone, with only an empty plate of cookies left.

She had never seen them again, despite her searches and the efforts of her friends and at this time of year, she always thought of them. Even as a little girl, she had wanted them to stay with her and join the family she'd wished for, had her wish come true.

Shaking her head slightly with a smile holding just a trace of wistfulness, she touched the bauble again with her fingernail, hearing its faint chime. It hung next to a paper snowflake that Lucy had made and presented to her, almost bursting with pride. Stella treasured it; every last uneven edge of it.

Along with the snowflake, an assortment of sprigs of tinsel, miniature toys and tiny baubles almost covered the tree. Gazing at it, Stella became pensive: it lacked a star - she'd meant to find one, but lack of time had thwarted her.

It would have to wait. Paperwork was calling and, she consoled herself, she had dinner with Mac to look forward to and maybe, if there was time, they could buy a tree... _their_ tree, in honour of spending their first Christmas together. Christmases were different now, true, but she had never lost her love of the season and now with Mac, there were Christmases ahead to look forward to, with all that they might bring.

Buoyed by that thought, with a last yawn and stretch, she shook herself into action after gulping down a mouthful of cold coffee and pulling a face at its bitterness. The task soon absorbed her and before she knew it, Mac was knocking at her office door. He had brought her coat and held it for her while she slipped her arms into the sleeves. His chivalrous gesture pleased her and she placed a kiss on his lips which softened his expression. In turn, she smoothed down the lapels of his coat, and they left her office with his hand on the small of her back, a pleasant anticipation filling her.

On their way out of the dimly-lit lab, made festive with swags of tinsel and garlands of greenery in unexpected places, they encountered Adam, looking unusually groomed and neatly pressed despite his headlong rush.

Mac raised his eyebrows and the lab tech gave an awkward grin as he skidded to a stop. 'Hey, boss; Stella.'

'Going someplace nice?' Stella asked him, a smile hovering round her lips and he gave her a grin.

'Yeah, actually, I am. Heading out to pick a tree, with, uh, with my girlfriend, you know, Fliss. Realised I was running late...' Self-conscious, he ran his hand through his hair and shrugged his bag back onto his shoulder. 'How 'bout you guys? You going somewhere? I mean, if that's not an impertinent question...'

He tailed off and Mac pinned him with a stare, but Stella intervened.

'Out for dinner,' she answered and he grinned.

'Awesome.'

He rode down in the elevator with them, happy to answer Stella's questions about where he and his girlfriend planned to get their tree from, even though he shifted from one foot to another, fiddled with the strap of his bag and glanced at the numbers all the way down, visibly relieved when the elevator reached the lobby.

'Hey, have a great evening,' he threw over his shoulder as he hurried out of the doors before they were fully open.

'You too,' Stella returned, Mac echoing her. Giving them a thumbs up, Adam dashed off as they exited at a more sedate pace, exchanging a smile with each other.

'How he's never broken a limb the way he runs round the place baffles me,' Mac remarked. The thought had crossed Stella's mind more than once and she laughed.

'Guardian angel?' she suggested with a twinkle and Mac chuckled.

'Got to be,' he said, guiding her across the lobby, still with his hand against her back.

'You know, we could look for a tree later if you want?' Stella suggested and Mac grinned at her.

'I was hoping to do just that.'

'Great minds, huh?' Stella smiled and caught hold of Mac's hand. Their eyes met briefly, a spark, no more, no less, passing between them as they left the building and stepped onto the snow-covered street.

They gasped as the freezing cold air embraced them. A shocking cold that made the air sharp, catching like glass splinters in nostrils and lungs. All the winters they had spent in New York never could prepare them for that transition between heated indoors and the raw winter cold outside. Everything was ice-white, crisp and fresh and as she caught her breath, Stella forgot the temperature and beamed at the transformed city. She tucked her chin into her scarf and felt snowflakes feathering against her face as Mac tightened his grip round her hand.

'Where to?' she asked, blinking away snow from her eyelashes.

'Wherever you'd like to go.' He smiled at her.

'How about the little Italian place we tried last week?' Their dinner there had been softly lit by candles pushed into glass bottles and after the meal they had lingered long into the evening, both reluctant to leave the cosy tranquillity.

'Sounds good to me,' Mac flashed her a smile as he hunched into his coat, turning his collar up with his free hand.

Hand in hand, they trudged along the sidewalk, compacted snow creaking underfoot. People bustled past them in a hurry and flurry. The usual noise of downtown Manhattan was muffled by the snow, allowing the sound of bells rung by the charity-collecting Santas and festive songs blaring from stores to fill the air. With only three days until Christmas, panic was starting to ferment among shoppers. But they walked through it, serene amid the frenzy, snow fluttering down on them, powdering their hair and clothes and covering their footprints, enjoying taking their time. Every so often they glanced at each other, sometimes with a smile, sometimes just a look, their fingers interlaced.

After leaving the busier streets, they found Christmas trees for sale on the sidewalk which neither of them were able to pass. With a glance at each other, they stopped and looked over them while the vendor stood and waited hopefully.

As Mac paced along the row, measuring the biggest ones up with his eyes, Stella watched him fondly, a smile playing on her lips.

'Don't forget your apartment does have a ceiling,' she remarked, 'And your neighbours above are unlikely to appreciate a hole cut in their floor...'

Mac stopped and stared at her. 'I know the exact measurements of my apartment and how much height we have to spare for the tree. I'll organise that; you can take charge when we decorate it.'

Stella grinned. 'I can take charge? I like that idea.' Impulsively, she leaned forward and kissed him, her hand sliding down his arm as he responded and for a short time they forgot the street, the snow and that there was anyone else but them as they savoured the sweetness of the kiss, until the sound of the man selling the trees clearing his throat, broke them apart in amused embarrassment.

There was still little more measuring and discussion with the seller to be done, and while Mac negotiated, Stella found her attention drifting. It was caught by the sound of a carol she knew well, sung by a child's voice floating through the air. The melody strangely intriguing, she walked towards where it seemed to be coming from and stopped to listen.

'Stella?' She turned to see Mac approaching her.

'Let's listen for a moment,' she said, the appeal in her voice reaching him as with a brief look at her, he obliged. The notes through the still night revived an image of her and the other children at the foster home, singing the carol in front of the Christmas tree...

'Remembering something?' Mac's question and his light touch of her arm jolted her out of her memories and she gave him a quick self-conscious smile.

'Oh, just a few things from the past,' she said and his gaze dallied over her face.

'Shall we get something to eat or do you want to listen any longer?' he asked and she shook her head, surprised to realise that she was ravenous.

'No, let's get some food.' She smiled, adding, 'Did you choose a tree?'

Mac's face broke into a grin. 'I did. Reserved and ready to be delivered later.'

'Perfect.' Happy to see him so pleased, Stella took his proffered arm and they walked on, about to cross the street when a flicker of movement snagged her eye. They had found the mystery singer. Forming a whimsical tableau, a girl, maybe seven or eight, sat on the stoop at the front of an old brownstone occupied in playing with some small toys and singing to them. The girl's coat, Stella noted, seemed too big and she wore a rather shapeless woollen hat jammed on her head, a few ringlets straggling from underneath it. Apparently sensing her scrutiny, the girl looked up.

'Hey there.' Smiling, Stella took a few steps towards her after glancing at Mac, who followed at a slower pace. 'It's okay, you can talk to us, we're police officers,' she reassured the child, holding her badge out.

'Hello,' the girl replied, her initial wariness lessening.

'Are you okay, sweetie? You look kind of lonely out here on your own,' Stella said.

'I'm not lonely,' the child answered and carried on playing with her toys.

'Aren't you cold?' Stella asked, seeing a lack of gloves on the child's hands.

'I'm playing.' She seemed surprised that Stella did not understand the correlation.

Stella's smile softened as she took another few steps towards the self-possessed little girl and crouched down close to her. 'What are you playing with, sweetie?'

'My friends,' she answered, opening her hands and holding them out, revealing a sight that drew a gasp from Stella.

The fairy and the soldier, her own lost friends from the past, lay in the little girl's palms.

With a startled look at the child, Stella found her voice. 'May I... May I take a look at them? I promise to be very careful,' she asked and after a moment's thought and consideration of her, the little girl nodded. Placing the dolls with great care into Stella's hands, she sat back and wrapped her arms round her knees, looking between the two adults.

As gently as if she held an eggshell, Stella examined the tiny dolls. They were exactly as she remembered them. The passing of time, wherever they had been, seemed to have left them without ravage. The fairy still had her foil star, the soldier still wore his uniform, complete with the burn mark. She smiled at the child who watched her with serious eyes; eyes that gave her a fleeting sense of recognition.

'Your friends used to be my friends, too, when I was growing up,' Stella told her. 'It's been a long time since I last saw them. Where did you find them?'

The girl shrugged. 'I just found them. I look after them when it's Christmas and they look after each other all the time.'

Stella nodded as she touched the mark on the soldier's uniform, aware of Mac a little way behind her. 'You obviously take really good care of them. They look very happy.'

A shy smile crossed the child's face and she hugged her knees tighter. 'They're my friends,' she said simply and Stella felt a rush of empathy with her.

'Thank you so much for letting me see your friends,' she said softly as she passed back the tiny dolls into the child's waiting hands, making sure they were safe and secure before she withdrew her hands. 'I missed them.'

'That's okay,' the little girl said, wide green eyes looking up at Stella as she straightened up.

'Don't get cold and don't stay out too long. Remember, Santa comes in a few days.' Stella smiled and the girl smiled back.

'I know. We won't.' And she focused her attention back on the dolls again, standing them on the snow, moving them around, then lying one of them down so they seemed to be looking up at the night sky.

With a last glance at them, Stella trod carefully across to where Mac waited for her.

'Okay?' he asked and she nodded, bestowing a smile on him, despite the wistfulness for times lost that had fallen over her. Taking his arm again, Stella stepped off the sidewalk, her mind elsewhere. Lights in the corner of her eye and a squealing sound wrenched her attention back to the street, to Mac and to her, and to the car speeding towards them.

Her actions were instinctive, driven by the need she had - had always had - to protect those she loved. With a cry, echoed by a scream from the little girl, she shoved Mac out of the way and took the full impact of the car as it slammed into her.

It was a blow from a hundred iron-clad fists. All of them punching her at once, smashing the breath out of her as she hit the hood of the car and was thrown onto the road. As her body crashed onto the tarmac and rolled over, she had only sensations of blunt, hard pain as she ended up lying on her back, the metallic tang of blood filling her mouth.

Her head rang with shouts, a crump of metal and concrete colliding, glass splintering and her own gasps for breath as she struggled to draw air back into her lungs. Blinking, she tried to clear the milky film across her vision. Everything seemed cast into snow hues, all the colour leached out. When she turned her head, it felt like a knife ramming into her skull and she moaned, her eyes closing as she fought the agony and nausea it caused. Even breathing hurt, her chest feeling straitened and wheezing. She tried to move again, only to be stopped by someone dropping to their knees beside her.

'Stella!' Mac's voice, urgent and afraid; his hand grabbing hers. 'Stella, don't move, stay still. It's okay, there's an ambulance coming. You're going to be okay...'

His face hovered over hers, his features hazy apart from his eyes.

'You're... okay?' she murmured and saw him try to smile as his fingertips brushed her cheek, wiped away a trickle of blood from her mouth.

'I'm okay.'

'You're not... not hurt? Is the... is the little girl okay?'

'I'm not hurt and neither is she,' he reassured her as he began to chafe her fingers, although it did little to stop the numbing cold which was spreading through her whole body.

'Good...'

Vaguely, she was conscious of others crowding round her, Mac commanding them to move back, and the little girl holding the two tiny figures standing by her, her face shocked.

There were more lights when she blinked again, sparkling, coruscating; a bright confusion laced with stars. Stella felt her eyelids becoming heavier. It seemed to be snowing even more, the soft, fat flakes tumbling down and covering her; forming a blanket over her that deadened everything, even the throb of pain in her skull.

Mac's voice was fading as he spoke to her, although she could still feel the soothing touch of his fingers stroking through her snow-soaked hair as she lay on the ground like a broken doll. With a last glimpse of his frightened face, her eyes closed and she sank into the welcoming, painless embrace of the snow.

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**Thank you for reading! Please take a moment to review, it's really great to know what you think :) Lily x**


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes: Not mine, sadly  
**

**Notes: Thanks to everyone who took the time to leave a review last chapter, I really appreciate it. Please do continue. ****Thank you _Guest_ for your lovely review! ****Many thanks to ****_Ballettmaus_**** and also to ****_Suallenparker_ for their help****.**

Chapter 3

Half an hour ago, Flack had come early to pay his daily visit, arriving while Mac was in the middle of a conversation with Stella's doctor. After that conversation, Mac could not talk to the younger detective, giving him only a brief greeting before hurrying away.

Now he sat alone at the front of the hospital chapel. Surrounded by golden, amber, yellow flickering candles. He stared at them until their teardrop shape was almost burned onto his retinas, sitting with fingers spread and hands gripping his knees in anger. He'd found peace inside the chapel but none in his heart. Inside was a tumult, a chaos and conflict of emotions. And lurking like a spider in the depths of a web, the terror that he might lose the person he cared for most of all, because she cared so much for him.

He breathed out slowly and the candle flames trembled.

His head dropped to his chest and his hands tightened their grip on his knees, nearly crushing them. Still angry with Stella for her actions; even more angry with himself for having failed to prevent her actions. With a low groan, he asked himself the same question he'd been asking for the last three days.

How had it happened?

How had he _let_ it happen?

_How?_

Mac tipped his head back, staring at the ceiling, blinking his eyes to clear them. His gaze fell on the altar and a further flicker of anger stirred in him; how had _He_ let it happen?

The unfairness, the injustice of it burned him. The only harm he'd suffered from falling against the kerb was a graze along his jaw, a few bruises and a sprained wrist. Stella, though...

Unconscious, she had been taken straight into the ER for scans and X-rays – suspected fractured skull, concussion and possible internal injuries the diagnosis. In a daze, he'd signed his consent as her next of kin for any necessary surgery, to be given the news a few hours later that the head injuries Stella had suffered had caused swelling to the brain and left her in a coma.

Somehow, he'd managed to overrule the official visiting times and for the last three days he had taken every moment he could to sit by Stella's bedside. For almost all those moments since she'd lost consciousness at the scene of the accident he'd held her hand, willing her to respond.

There was no sign she even knew he was there.

That there was nothing more he could do to help her was ruining him, he was powerless. Unable to do anything more than cling to her hand to try and keep her from slipping away to where he couldn't reach her.

Mac closed his eyes, his forehead creasing as he pushed his thumb and forefinger into his eyelids. Releasing another weighty sigh, he opened his eyes, blinking. A quiver of heat rose from the rows of votive candles by the altar and he found his gaze enthralled by them. Drawn, he stood up and moved towards them. Near to the lit candles sat a discreetly-placed box of new candles and a printed card suggesting a donation. He hesitated a moment before reaching into his jacket for his wallet.

His fingers found something else first: the thin piece of paper with a blurred black and white scan image that the doctor had given him earlier. He couldn't look at it now and shoved it abruptly back into his pocket, delving again for his wallet. After dropping several quarters into the donation box, he selected a candle, needing a light in the darkness. Eyes fixed on it, he held it against one of its lit fellows and watched as the wick fizzled and finally flared into life.

He cupped it in his hands as the flame wavered, strengthened and grew. When it stood tall, he set it a little way apart from the others, returned to his seat and sat watching it, keeping a silent vigil for Stella.

A sudden draught made the candle flames bend and Mac spun round. By the chapel door stood a small figure. He frowned in surprise, recognising the child Stella had spoken to just before the accident. How she had found her way to the hospital mystified him - he'd lost sight of her after the ambulance had arrived and she had slipped from his mind since then.

Tentatively, serious-faced, the little girl approached him with something clutched in her hands.

'Are you lost?' he asked, softening his voice, not wanting to scare her away, mindful that she had witnessed the accident.

She shook her head. 'I'm not lost. I was looking for you.'

'For me?' Mac frowned.

This time, the child nodded. 'You're the friend of the lady who got hurt by the car, aren't you? You're the soldier.'

Mac looked at her in confusion. 'The soldier?'

She opened her hands and showed him, lying on her spread palms, the two tiny dolls she had given Stella to hold. Now he saw them close up, one seemed to be a fairy with wings, a little dress and a gold foil star, and the other a doll dressed in a uniform, with dark hair and a sober expression. Mac studied them, his forehead creasing. If he unbound his imagination, then maybe, _maybe_ there was something similar about the dolls...

'See, your friend with the pretty hair is the fairy and _you're_ the soldier,' the little girl broke in, picking the soldier doll up and presenting it to him. As if handling a piece of fragile evidence, Mac accepted it and laid it on his palm. The doll stared back up at him. 'He got hurt,' She pointed to a mark on the doll's uniform, a fierce note jarring her voice, 'but he won't ever be hurt again, _ever_.'

'No,' Mac said, unsure of how else to respond, though he had no doubt that the child meant what she said.

'Me and fairy doll take care of him and make sure he doesn't get hurt,' she confided, the determination plain in her eyes, 'Like your friend does...' She faltered and her mouth scrunched up, but with a gulp, she continued, 'Even - even though it meant _she_ got hurt, she protected you, didn't she?'

The devastating simplicity of that truth hit Mac hard.

'Yes. Yes, she did,' he said slowly and the child nodded, gazing at him from under her woollen hat.

'Maybe she didn't want you to be hurt 'cause that would have made her very sad,' she said solemnly.

Unable to form a reply, Mac stared at the little girl, trying to control the sudden painful swell of helpless, unwanted anger at Stella for not realising what it did to him when _she_ was hurt. Finally, he swallowed and managed to speak. 'I... I guess she didn't.'

'Was your friend hurt very bad?' the child asked in a soft voice, her eyes full of sympathy.

Mac paused, before deciding to be honest without being brutal. 'She got hurt pretty bad,' he said, 'And she'll probably be in hospital a while longer.'

The little girl nodded, her face grave. 'So she can get better.'

So simply stated... Mac wished he could share her conviction. Instead as he told her yes, it was so she could get better, his words felt hollow, echoing with falsity.

But the child didn't seem to notice. Instead, with a blush of shyness, she held out the fairy doll towards him. 'Here... she's for your friend, and you can keep soldier doll. They can help you look after your friend so she gets better very soon.'

Though he hesitated, Mac accepted, feeling that to refuse would offend. 'Thank you,' he said in a gruff voice. 'That's very kind of you. My – my friend will be very happy.'

The little girl beamed and clasped her hands together as she took a step closer. 'Can I tell you a secret, too?' she asked in a hushed voice. Despite himself, Mac discovered a smile within and gave it to her.

'Go right ahead.'

'Christmas Eve is a very, _very_ special night. You got to wait till midnight, then you can make a wish on your Christmas tree star and it will come true,' she whispered, one hand cupped round her mouth as she glanced around, and then stepped back with a shy grin, twisting her fingers together.

Christmas Eve... he'd almost forgotten. After the accident, everything beyond his new routine at the hospital had melted away. Even the Christmas tree – his and Stella's – had been forgotten.

'I don't have...' Mac stopped. The little girl watched him expectantly and he remembered the gift that he had bought for Stella, that he should have given her; would have given her over dinner three nights ago, had the evening gone to plan. 'Thank you for telling me about it,' he said at last

The child looked pleased. 'You got to wish at _exactly_ midnight, or it won't work,' she warned and pulled back her coat sleeve to study a wristwatch with Mickey Mouse on the face. 'That's in... four hours,' she told him and he nodded.

'I'll remember.' Adding, 'That's a pretty nice watch you got.' At the compliment, the little girl's face lit up.

'It's almost new,' she boasted and Mac couldn't help a smile crossing his face.

Faint, then, but easily identifiable, came the sound of someone coming along the corridor and the child startled. With a glance at the door and back at Mac, her eyes wide, she blurted out, 'I got to go. Don't forget your wish!'

Before he could stop her, she had darted out of the door and away. Moments later, Flack entered, glancing behind him with a puzzled look on his face.

'Was there a kid here just now, or am I imagining things?' He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. 'Could have sworn I saw one running out of here.'

'There was a kid here,' Mac confirmed as he stood up and looked out of the door at the empty corridor.

Flack turned a questioning gaze on Mac. 'What was a kid doing here at this time of night?'

'I'm not entirely sure.'

Unwilling to pressure him into further explanation, Flack nodded briefly before he sat down, a trace of discomfort in his features.

'Mac, I...' He stopped, a flush creeping over his face. Mac waited, half-suspecting what the younger man was about to tell him. 'When I got here and you were talking to the doc about Stell, I...'

'You heard what we said,' Mac finished.

'Most of it,' Flack admitted, his eyes darting up to meet Mac's. 'Including what she said about the baby…'

Feeling heavy with weariness, Mac lowered himself onto a seat opposite his friend and exhaled slowly.

'When did you find out - that Stell was pregnant?' Flack asked, meeting Mac's gaze fully.

'The night of the accident,' Mac said, his mind falling back into the darkness of those hours in the hospital - the shock of the doctor telling him that they had been able to save the baby's life, not even knowing that there had been another life to save; disbelief and then simply numbness, with guilt that he could not feel joy at the news.

'You had no idea before? Flack questioned him and he shook his head, suddenly needing to talk.

'Neither of us… At least, I'm pretty sure Stella herself didn't know. We'd talked about it, thought about maybe trying for a baby in the New Year, but...' He stopped and the blurred image of that speck of life in the photo he had stuffed deep in his jacket pocket passed through his mind. 'She'd been tired more than usual the last week or so, but we never thought...'

'They know how far along she is?' Flack asked and Mac nodded.

'Three months, which was one of the factors that helped save the baby. As did the fact that the car hit Stella more to the back than the front and she likely hit the ground on her side... not that it did _her_ any good.' He stopped again, angry with himself for the bitterness that had crept into him, aware of Flack watching him.

'So the baby's okay?'

Again, Mac nodded in answer to Flack's question. 'As far as they can tell: it's got a strong heartbeat, they can't detect any distress and all the scans show it's developing normally with no damage caused from the accident.'

'Pretty miraculous, huh?' Flack gave a brief shake of his head, his hands shoved into his pockets.

'That's what the doctors have said.'

A beat or two of silence passed before Flack spoke again. 'And Stell? What's the news on her?'

His voice flat, Mac answered. 'It's been three days, Don. The longer she's unconscious, the smaller her chances of waking and making a full recovery get.'

When the doctor had told him that, he had felt ice start to form in his chest, only been able to stand and listen as the doctor talked. Now, as he watched Flack's shoulders slump, the cold would not relinquish its grip.

'That bad?' Flack asked at last, his voice heavy.

'She's tough...' Mac said, knowing as he said it that it was only for his own comfort. True, Stella was tough, but she was also fragile. Strong, determined, brave... and vulnerable. Susceptible to hurt, just as he was.

Weariness was sketched on Flack's face and his blue eyes were dimmed as he heaved himself to his feet and stood, folding his arms across his chest. 'Something else you ought to know - we caught up with the driver a few hours ago. That's the reason I got here early. We got him down at the precinct.' He sighed and rubbed the side of his nose. 'Name Scott Murphy mean anything to you?'

The unexpected question nudged Mac out of his state; he frowned at Flack and a memory ignited – a man cautioned for obstruction, when he and Stella had arrested his brother for murder.

Flack's expression was grim. 'I see it does. He remembered you and Stell; never forgot you in fact.'

His implication was clear.

'It was deliberate?' A cold fire of rage kindled inside him.

'That's what his confession said.' Disgust spread across Flack's face as he grunted. 'Blamed you two for his brother doing time in Sing-Sing, conveniently forgetting said brother's conviction for murdering his girlfriend. Murphy said he'd followed you all the way from the lab, drinking half a bottle of scotch to build up his nerve, and took his chance when he saw you crossing the street.'

'Son of a bitch,' Mac growled, bile and fury twisting his features, overcoming his propriety for the chapel.

'Sergeant was booking him as I left.'

It was no comfort to Mac and he pushed past Flack abruptly. 'I need to get back to Stella.' If he didn't take that path to her, he couldn't trust himself not to take another path, a path that led all the way to the precinct to find Murphy and beyond, to revenge and destruction.

Flack followed him, all the way back to the door of Stella's room. There, after a clasp of his shoulder and a murmured instruction to hang in there, he left him.

Alone with Stella, Mac lowered himself into his seat, feeling snow-touched and chilled. Three days had changed the room, at first simply blue, white and grey, to a warmth of colour – full of flowers, gifts and cards. The little Christmas tree from her desk now sat on the windowsill, brought by Adam two days ago, and Lucy had added another paper snowflake to it, as well as a card telling her Aunt Stella in lopsided handwriting to wake up soon so she didn't miss Christmas.

Those days and hours had brought no change in Stella. Unaware of any of it, she still lay in the bed with her eyes closed, her arms laid at her sides, skin waxy, a taped-together laceration along her temple remaining brutally clear. Her eyelashes stood out against her pale face and under her eyes looked bruised. Further grazes and bruises marked her skin, healing slowly, still stark. Reaching out a cautious hand, Mac let it hover for a moment over her forehead. Her hair fanned out over the pillow and he combed his fingers through its curls.

'Oh, Stella,' he sighed.

To see her so vulnerable, to feel so unable to help her after she had risked her life to protect his, neither of them knowing of that other spark of life... he could hardly bear it and hands clenching, he shoved the chair back and strode over to the window. The snow still fell over the city; pirouetting, tumbling to the ground.

Falling, falling...

Falling along with his hope.

Mac dragged his hand down his face and exhaled. Bracing himself, he turned back to Stella and returned to his chair, his gaze focused on the slight rise and fall of her breathing.

A few hours later, sipping at a coffee that a kindly nurse had brought him, he shifted in his seat; something poking into his side puzzled him, and then he remembered. From his jacket he withdrew the two small dolls and placed them at the side of the bed, where Stella would be able to see them when she woke up.

He remembered, too, the child's secret and glanced over at the little paper-wrapped gift, Stella's early Christmas gift, that sat on the bedside table.

Mac reached over and toyed with it in his fingers and, calling it a foolish whim, glanced at his watch. It was a quarter before midnight; fifteen more minutes. Something akin to a smile crossed his lips at the memory of the little girl's belief in a Christmas Eve wish. The secret she'd shared held a strange appeal.

Still, he wavered. Too many Christmas Eves had gone by; too much seen in all those years had left him jaded and cynical. He was a grown man, a scientist; he didn't believe in wishes.

But his self-consciousness fought with a yearning to believe in them again, to rekindle his hope. Maybe it was even something Stella believed in. Anyhow, what harm would a wish do? No one else need know...

'When you're awake, I'll get you another gift you can open yourself,' he told her softly. With care, he opened the package, peeling away the layers of tissue until the small gold star he had bought for her Christmas tree shone in his hand.

Gently, tenderly, he turned her hand over so it was palm upwards and placed the star in it.

'For you, Stella,' he whispered, caressing her cheek. He placed his hand over hers, the gesture protective, and curled his fingers around hers so the star lay between their palms. The contact spread a tendril of warmth through him and he sat, his eyes never leaving her, remembering the flame of the candle he had lit for her earlier.

The minutes passed. Mac glanced at his watch. Almost midnight. When he heard the first faint chime of the hour, feeling half-foolish and sentimental, but with a hope that was drawn from childhood Christmases long ago, he closed his eyes and made his wish.

As the last stroke of twelve faded to an echo, he opened his eyes. Blinking, he glanced around warily; there was no sign of anyone else inside or outside the room. The regular blip of the monitors above the bed intruded into his consciousness, but there was no other sound. No movement either. Stella's eyes were still closed, she was still oblivious to her surroundings, and to him.

It made the ice inside him tighten its grip round his heart, even though haunting him was a ghost of sadness. Cold, even colder than before, he hunched his shoulders, turning his back on the emotion. All that was left to do was keep watch and wait.

He sat back in his chair, his face set and resumed his vigil.

Maybe it was the hypnotic snow ballet outside the window, maybe the evening's events; whichever it was, tiredness overcame him eventually and Mac jerked awake several hours later, startled at having succumbed to sleep. His mouth was dry and his head felt fuzzy and he rubbed his eyes before standing up and stretching, reaching for the water at the side of the bed. But his hand froze halfway to the jug.

Instantly alert, he stared at Stella: he hadn't imagined it, she _had_ moved. One arm now lay partly across her stomach and her head had turned a fraction. Hope began to stir in his chest as he glimpsed a wink of gold from the star still in her grasp. Touching her cheek with his fingertips, he saw her eyelids flicker.

'Stella?' he spoke softly, smoothed her hair away from her forehead. 'Stella, can you hear me?'

Her head shifted on the pillow and her lips parted. Mac took hold of her hand and lifted it to his lips, brushing a kiss against the back of it, his eyes never leaving her.

A frown passed across Stella's face and she sighed before at last her eyes fluttered open. Almost immediately, he felt her fingers curl round his and as her gaze focused on him, he felt a surge of relief when he saw she recognised him.

'Hey,' he said, 'You were sleeping again...'

His voice cracked and at the same time, fissures appeared in the numbing cold around his heart, the protection and constriction it had provided shattering. All he could do was hold on to her hand.

'Mac,' she murmured, and even though her eyes were still heavy, she raised her hand to his cheek, brushing away the tear that had appeared there.

Gazing down at her, joy destroying the fear and leaving him exposed to all his feelings, Mac stroked her hair with a delicate tenderness.

'I missed you,' he breathed.

'Sorry...' Stella's eyes glistened and he hurried to speak again, knowing he needed to call for her doctor, but not wanting to lose his moment to tell her what he had to.

'You saved me from being injured, maybe even killed by that car,' he said, 'thank you. But, please,' he continued, his thumb caressing the back of her hand, '_never _do that again, especially not because of me.'

A faint smile appeared on Stella's lips. 'I made a promise...' she whispered.

'I have a promise to keep, too,' he said, gazing down at her. 'To look after _you_, because... because I love you.'

Stella stared up at him, her eyes emeralds. He clasped her hand, their fingers entwined, warmth radiating through him. For now, there was nothing more that needed to be said.

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**Thank you for reading. Please do let me know what you think! One more chapter to go... Lily x**


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes: I'm so sorry for the delay in posting this. I've started a new job ****recently****, so it's been very busy. But I apologise for keeping you waiting! **

**Many thanks to _suallenparker_, and _Ballettmaus_ - you've been a huge help! **

**Please enjoy this final chapter of the story :) **

Chapter 4

Stella woke with a start, alert immediately. The room was dim and still, but she could just make out that Mac was asleep beside her. At that, she relaxed. If there was anything to worry about, he would have woken and a smile curved her lips as she gazed at the shadowy sight of him. The comforter (which he'd managed to steal most of her share of) only covered him up to his midriff and her gaze dawdled over his bare chest as he breathed. The sight tempted her to trail her fingers down his skin, but not wanting to wake him, she contented herself with a touch of his hair.

Wide awake herself, Stella slipped out of bed. Shivering, she grabbed her favourite t-shirt of Mac's which lay discarded on the floor, pulled it on over her bare skin and then reached for her dressing gown. Wrapping the gown around her as she went, she headed first for her daughter's room.

As she'd half-suspected, Holly's small bed was empty – the bedclothes lay in a heap on the floor and both Holly and her favourite bear were nowhere in sight. Stella grinned, shaking her head slightly: following the story she'd been told of the wish on the Christmas tree star on Christmas Eve, it was no surprise she wasn't asleep. A glance at the clock on the wall, showing five minutes to midnight, strengthened Stella's conviction. She knew where her daughter was. Maybe showing her the position of the clock's hands when it was midnight had been a mistake...

She left the room and trod softly towards the living room. In the doorway she stopped and a smile spread over her face. Holly sat cross-legged in front of the Christmas tree, her bear clutched to her, head tilted back as she gazed up at the gold star on top of the tree and the two dolls just beneath it.

Leaning side-on against the door frame, her arms folded, Stella watched, a smile soft on her lips, before a touch on her shoulder made her start. She spun round to see Mac grinning behind her, now dressed in pyjama pants and a t-shirt. His hands slid round her waist and Stella placed a finger against his lips, nodding into the room. Together, they stood and watched their daughter as she sat in front of the Christmas tree and spoke to the two tiny dolls.

'Mommy says you got to wish, too, dollies,' they heard Holly instruct the fairy and the soldier, before she turned to her bear. 'An' _you_ got to wish as well, Bear. All of us together, 'kay?'

A soft chuckle came from Mac at the three year old's bossy tones. 'Remind you of anyone?' He tugged gently at one of her curls and she gave him a wide-eyed look.

'No one I can think of,' she murmured before leaning closer to whisper in his ear, 'But it's almost time to make your wish, too.' His eyes glinted and as she leant back in his hold, she remembered the wish she'd had over thirty years ago, in the cold dining room of her foster home – for a family of her very own, to love and love her.

Mac smiled and moved forward, his lips brushing against hers.

'I don't need to,' he whispered. 'I got what I wished for, and more, four years ago.'

'Me too,' she whispered. 'Me too...' Their gazes met and held, remembering that Christmas four years ago, when their life together, and Holly's life, had nearly ended when it had barely begun, and when they had been given their miracle. And with their little miracle now sitting in front of the Christmas tree, Stella caught hold of Mac's fingers, remembering the moment on Christmas Day after she had woken, when he had taken a crumpled sonogram picture from his jacket and placed it in her hands, told her about their baby.

The shock and the swiftly following delight and excitement she'd felt was still a vivid memory. Even though she had been monitored closely, after being allowed home following two long weeks in the hospital, she had made a full recovery, sailed through the rest of her pregnancy and Holly's birth on a beautiful June day had been free from complications. Their little girl was healthy, happy and full of mischief despite a pair of deceptively innocent blue eyes; the same colour blue as Mac's.

Whose eyes held hers now, holding love for her as she wrapped her arms round his neck, caressing the short strands of hair at the back of his skull. Foreheads leaning against each other, lips almost touching as they breathed. Her head tucked into the dip of his neck, Stella breathed in his scent, mingled with the aroma of the Christmas tree and the spices of the baking he had done earlier with Holly. Her eyes fluttered closed and she sighed in contentment, utter contentment as the chimes of midnight reverberated through the night.

'Merry Christmas, Mac,' she murmured.

He kissed the top of her head. 'Merry Christmas to you, too.'

They stayed holding each other, breathing together. Until Stella roused herself and looked into the living room. A soft rumbling chuckle came from Mac as they saw their daughter curled up fast asleep under the tree, her bear clutched to her.

'I guess wishing at midnight wore her out.' Stella grinned.

'Not as much as baking cookies for Santa with her wore her daddy out,' Mac mumbled and Stella grinned even more.

'Let's get our little sleepy-head to bed,' she said in a low voice, drawing Mac by the hand into the room. 'Then we can go back to bed, too. We're going to need as much sleep as we can get seeing as _someone_ is still going to be awake very early tomorrow...'

Even when Mac bent down to scoop Holly carefully up into his arms, she didn't stir. With her curly dark head resting on his shoulder and her cheeks flushed berry red, she looked angelic, which made a wry smirk cross Stella's lips, knowing that the reality was anything but.

Holding back, indicating to Mac that she would follow shortly, she bent down to retrieve Bear who had fallen into the heap of cookies. An impulse, stirred by memory made her pause by the tree and study the two tiny dolls sitting in pride of place near the top. Despite their best efforts the little girl who had given them to Mac that Christmas Eve had never been traced: Stella suspected that she never would be. Some things, she'd decided, would always hold their secrets. Like the two dolls.

Two dolls whose eyes twinkled and gleamed in the light, winking even, as if sharing a secret joke with each other. Stella stared suspiciously at them, head cocked on one side.

But it was probably just the lights from the tree, catching the glass of their eyes. Nothing more. Stella smiled to herself, shaking her head at her imaginings, before she picked up Bear, brushed the cookie crumbs off him and left the room. In the hallway though, she stopped, spun on her heel and darted back to the door of the living room.

A delighted grin spread over her face as she peeped into the room - the two dolls were hand in hand, smiling at each other.

'Merry Christmas and thank you, to you and Santa when you see him,' she whispered and tiptoed away to bed.

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**Thank you for reading! Please do let me know what you think - I love to know! Love, Lily x**


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